Evening ramblings

Oh hell.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

The crying and weeping is getting old.

The thought of moving my body makes me cringe.

I cleaned the downstairs bathroom today. I cleaned half of the upstairs one. The second half stared at me and became so unbelievably overwhelming that I couldn’t face it. I walked away from it.

When I put it into perspective, it’s been about two weeks since my depression came on. I’ve been in worse places for much longer. I keep kicking myself in the ass and calling myself a failure for not getting my shit together and snapping out of it. I lecture everyone else on having patience and understanding with these things, but do not listen to my own advice.

I pulled out some old photo albums. I stacked them up and sifted through them. I saw Joshua before medication. He rarely smiled. After meds he seemed happier, even though he wasn’t completely stable. He was an active kid, more fun. He loved the park, the swings, the slides, running up and down the stairs. He liked to play ball and ride bikes. He danced constantly. He climbed onto counters and swam in the pool. It sucked when everything flipped.

Now we can hardly get him out of the house for anything.

I keep thinking that maybe when he’s the age of an adult we will have more freedom. Jason and I can go to the park and swing and run and play ball on our own. Joshua can be left alone and not need us here 24/7. Only another four or five years and we might be there.

I looked at my college photo album. The last time I felt truly free. Not the best years, but the most free. Boys liked me...a lot. I drank and smoked. I went out at night. I was spontaneous. I was an insomniac. I was an unmedicated bipolar girl and it kept me in a whirlwind of emotions and actions. I’m not saying being unmedicated is a good thing. At the time it was just part of the package. I had dreams and goals and fantasies. I laid in the grass and talked with friends and made cloud pictures. I had conversations about philosophy and religion and the world and love.

My journey has been long and hard. I have worked to get to where I am today. And yet, I sit in this sadness and wonder what the hell that even means. I am better than I was. My life is healthier than before. But the depression and mania still live here inside of me. They have different thoughts and different motions now, but they are still lurking in me just waiting for the right switch to be flipped. Medication helps immensely but there is no cure.

I feel so stifled and down. It’s like every time I come up for air my head hits the ceiling and there is no way out, no way to get to the fresh air. I’m tired. I am out of energy.

I’ve said before that I do not want to be alive but here I am. (a year ago in a blog I said “My basic foundation, and I have said this before, is that I do not wish to be here, but while I am I will make the most of it. It is the truth. It is not sad, it just is. There is a beauty in it that I am learning to accept.”) That holds true no matter what my mood. It’s just that it is harder when I am depressed. Libbi knows this and when I start to bring it up she can finish my sentence for me. Again, she does not judge me, she accepts the fact that this is how I feel.

Will that feeling ever change? Who knows.

Oh hell.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

The whole thing is getting old.

The thought of waking up makes me cringe.

But, I'm sure I will.